Chapter 2: Kabutar, a Floating Nest

Bjorn awoke before the first glint of sunlight angled up from beneath Kabutar, the easternmost of the seven floating nests. Disorientation sent a wave of excessive sensory surges rippling along the pedicel of his antennae. Although now receding, the remnants of a tangled, irritating dream stirred in the back of his mind.

Surface dwellers gathered before a waterfall cluttered with flowing symbols, calculations, and worms. Grass slimed over with yellowed muck splotching a circle of sunbaked dirt. Behind the cascading veil of oddities, a woman—his mother as best Bjorn could remember her—

The reoccurring night-phantoms gave way to his anticipation of the coming events. Today was special. Night moisture lingered near and comforting, and Cloud’s gray honeycombs promised fair weather to Kabutar.

Bjorn remained perched on the stiff, shiny curls of transport vines that served as a natural roost throughout the city. Gray and greenish shadows shifted within his translucent body, and his capillaries throbbed as if to erupt from such a significant intake of oxygen. He needed to calm down.

Not that hyperventilation could rupture his skin, but rampant over-breathing sometimes triggered painful muscle spasms in young Airbornes. He was not an exception to the rule, so he remained still, refreshing his moist flesh in the morning breeze as it whispered up, around, and through Cloud’s inner being. His pedicel sensors needed time to settle into a gentle intake of odors and vibrations. Watching the sunrise until it revealed the distant rows of windmills along the perimeter of the nest eased his nerves. The spinners were fewer now than had once been. Too many sinkholes had developed across the land.

Off to the southeast, towers stood high, their banners fluttering in the wind. Yet, they also showed signs of sinking. A recent increase in rain created severe environmental threats.

Wealthy enough to own a private roost in the city’s high-tower, Bjorn’s household enjoyed the benefits of bellows-sustained absorbable moisture. The elevation sometimes enabled him to catch glimpses of the night and the tens of thousands of thousand stars therein. On rare occasions, he could see the dirty river-stone glows of scattered moon chunks as they sank into the blackness at the edge of Below—where Kabutar ended, and the surface world never touched Cloud. But not today.

What did it matter? On this day and for the first time in his life, Bjorn would go beyond Kabutar’s windmills, structures, Mother Tree, and even Cloud. Today he would brave the fierce blaze of open-air sunlight—for a short spell.

Taking caution to ensure that his transparent pectoral fins remained unobstructed, he dressed in a customized HB moisturizing mantle. Although expensive and awkward to wear, the cloaks were a necessary burden for Airbornes intent upon a surface world journey.

Humidity-balance technology enabled the HB mantle to circulate body moisture, prevent dehydration, and ensure functional sack expansion. Bjorn would remain damp, safe, and flight-worthy even when exposed to direct sunlight.

Most ancients always wore the cloaks, their dry bodies too old to sustain moisture. But life confined by such involuntary means of survival might be more curse than a blessing. Still, Bjorn was glad for technology that enabled movement between the nests. But when old age came to claim his life, he would reject the extension of an HB confinement. Perhaps when that time arrived, he would test the rumors of sun-dipping. Stories had it that certain thrill-seekers sometimes dived beneath the city’s outer edges without the protection of mantles. Stupid concept, he thought, not at all probable. Yet, he wondered at what thrills might reside in taking such significant risks.

The HB cloak fit well but with an itch. His pectoral fins almost disappeared against the back of the material, yet their nano-scale structure continued negating the heat of direct sunlight. When Bjorn left the roost, he left behind the intangible memories of his mother.

—

Despite Bjorn’s earlier feelings of enhanced vapor, Cloud was thin today. Reflective sunlight pierced deep into the city. Away from the roost, he had to double-layer the membrane that protected his large piercing eyes. HB technology couldn’t adjust to every situation.

He passed through a garden where tall tube-trees extended high into the crest of Cloud. At the top of their stalks, near the limits of Bjorn’s vision, the plants branched out to form a vast multiple-stemmed canopy of delicate flower pads. The design ensured the plants could capture the slightest rays that penetrated from above the moisture. Although sunlight in excess was death, it remained essential to life.

All told, the humid day provided low temperatures, bright but chilled light, and the fragrance of Brahmi, Marsh Flowers, and Water Fringe drifting in the breeze. Throughout it, all ran the mighty branches of Mother Tree, the core of every nest. Yet an unnatural reek of soured fruit reminded Bjorn that the abundance of caddisflies remained in decline. Despite all of the wonder of Cloud and Tree, something wasn’t aligned as it should.